Tandem Souls
by Owari no Seiryu
Summary: During the final battle Harry defeated Voldemort, however there existed no victory for the Chosen One- at least, not this time around. AU, slightly OoC, MoD! Harry, Dark! Harry, HarryxVoldemort/Tom Riddle Eventual Slash, Daddy! Death
1. Prologue

Shock. Fury. Indignation. And most curiously, _relief_.

He thought he had finally rid himself of the brat. The _Chosen One_. The boy continued to thwart him, deigning to survive the killing curse _again._ Now here they stood among the ruin and devastation. Though his anger was unparalleled, it was hard to ignore the slight, nagging itch at the back of his mind. Something was _wrong_.

He had no time to ponder just what it might be as the boy raised his wand. The Dark Lord struck fast, a stream of green shooting from his wand to the Boy-Who-Lived.

As soon as the curse left his lips the feeling of wrongness made itself more prominently known. He felt it down to his core, an overwhelming saddness, and his magic gave much resistance. He heard a shout, vaguely, and looked up in time to see his own curse reflecting back towards him. Terror coursed through his veins yet, the intense melancholy lifted and outpoured relief.

In the split second before Lord Voldemort breathed his last, ruby eyes widened in realization and a lone tear escaped. _Oh..._ he thought.

Harry expected to feel the immense burden of the war lift from his shoulders the moment it became clear the Voldemort's curse would destroy the last rememnant of his mutilated soul. Instead he felt his magic bare down on him with incredible pressure, before the deflected curse even hit its caster.

He gazed toward Voldemort, unable to avert his eyes. He watched the rubies widen as a tear rolled down the snake-like visiage and absently touched his own cheek to feel wettness mirroring his enemy.

The curse struck true and Voldemort burst into dust. Intense waves of emotions rolled off the teen and he let out a strangled cry and choked sobs. His knees hit the hard ground below him as he collapsed. His mind was blank yet swirling with raw emotion. He unconciously dragged himself toward the piles of dust the was formerly the Dark Lord. Disbelief increased with every centimeter closer he approached. The most torturous agony swelled in his heart, his mind too broken to even realize its cause.

Finally reaching the dust, Harry reached a hand forward to touch it, his tears rapidly wetting it, causing it to form together. Once his finger made contact with the soft powder, he screamed in anguish. The agonizing sound tore from his throat for the entirety of the Hogwarts grounds to hear. His magic compressed upon himself and in that moment, Harry Potter's soul shattered.


	2. Chapter 1

Harry awoke with a groan, avada eyes fluttering open to take in his surroundings, body reflexively tensed. A quick mental once over had him realize he lay on his back, bare skin touching a surface neither hard nor soft, and neither warm nor cool. In fact he was quite comfortable, content even, so he relaxed and let out an almost inaudible sigh.

His brief moment of relaxation ended as a frown appeared on his face. Bare skin... he was naked! A rattling sound from somewhere behind him sent most unpleasant shivers down his spine. _A chuckle._ You might find it beneficial to get up Master."

Harry bolted upright and instictively reached for his wand, only to pause in slight panic. _Where is it?!_ Snapping his head up towards the voice, he gasped.

Standing, or rather, _floating_ in front of him was quite the haunting sight. A figure shrouded in black, and very much resembling a dementor looked upon him. The skeletal figure within seemed otherworldly. Under Its pale and somewhat translucent skin rested a rather intricate network of veins that almost seemed to slither and writhe within, a faint silver glow emanating from them. Harry's eye drew upward to Its face, shadowed by the dark cloak. He couldn't make out any real facial details apart from the sunken, deep set eyes. At first glance they appeared black, but _something,_ seemed to swirl within theor depths. It deeply unnerved him, and as they seemed to bore holes right through him he desperately wished to be clothed. No sooner had he wished it, than a shimmering, silver robe appeared over his exposed body.

Looking up from his new attire to the dark figure, Harry made an attempt to keep his voice steady as he asked, "Who and what are you?"

"Most refer to me as Death, Master."

Harry's eyes widened in shock. It called him _Master._ Again. His mind drifted toward the hollows.. He knew the Elder wand wouldn't truly harm him...and he had the cloak and stone. He blinked, mouth agape.

Death looked upon its young Master in amusement. It could see the wheels turning, connections being made, and the slow realization coming to the boy as it all clicked.

"Does that mean...?" Harry managed, flummoxed.

"Yes. You mastered my hollows and therefore became the Master of Death, as you mortals seem to call it."

"But I hadn't even tried to do it! So what does this mean for me?"

Death smiled, though the boy couldn't see it. "You mastered those objects because you were meant too. There happened to be a reason why it has never been done before. You, Harry Potter, were fated for it and now you shall be granted a boon."

Harry took a moment to process the revelation. With an inward sigh he thought, _I guess I knew I'd never be normal even in... wait where am I?_ For the first time, he thought to check his surroundings. Looking up, his vision filled with an expanse of white.

"Er... Mr. Death, Sir, _where_ are we?"

A rather terrifying rattling sound spilled from Death. Not even the Peverell brothers had ever called it _Sir!_ It laughed uproariously for a few moments before answering the boy's question. "It doesn't look like King Cross Station at present, but surely you see the resemblance to your meeting with Albus?"

Harry's eyes widened minutely before a look of resignation and calm took over. "So I'm dead then? But the last I remember... Voldemort, h-he died. The curse hit him and... then everything was pain. I felt so awful. But he was supposed to die right? Why did it make me so _sad?!_ I felt like I was choking, squashed under boulders...Hey, why doesn't it hurt _now?"_ Once he finished rambling, Harry sunk to the ground. Death almost thought to let the boy stew on it, but figured it best to give an explanation. They needed to move on after all. "The pain you felt was your magic crushing you as your soul shattered. During the last moments of both yours and Tom's lives, your magic and souls cried out for each other but couldn't stop the actions set in motion. You and he were soulmates. Your soul mourned its mate's death, thus shattering and your magic made quick work of killing your body." Death paused to give the boy a moment to think.

Harry swallowed thickly. Soulmates. He and Voldemor- no _Tom._ Despite the monster he knew Tom had become, he knew Death spoke the truth. Harry had felt it before he died. It all made sense know. The agony he felt was that which could only come from killing your life mate.

Harry's breathing quickened and came out in shallow pants. He _killed his own soulmate!_ Death, sensing the boy's distress reached out a long-fingered, slivery hand. "Calm yourself. You have a boon from me remember? Tell me this, if you could, would you go back. Change the future by altering your actions in the past?"

Harry jerked slightly, his eyes filled with hope and confusion. "Tom has always wanted me dead. If I went back, he wouldn't know about us..."

"No he wouldn't, but his soul and magic will be aware, and when the time is right, he will know. After all, he realized it before that curse struck him."

Tentatively Harry enquired, " Would everything be the same as the first time?"

Death thought a moment before it answered, "Major events in your life will likely happen in similar fashion until _you_ do something to alter its course. Though you will retain your memories, personality, and perceptions therefore altering the actions of those around you. If I recall, you've a rather nasty temper at times."

Harry gave a lopsided grin. "Well then, I think we have ourselves a deal." Harry held out his hand. Death took it in his own cold appendage. "You will retain your current magical core and it will grow along with you. Should you ever find yourself in need of me, just call and I shall come."

Death placed a cold hand on the boy's forehead and magic pulsed around the pair. With Its free hand, It summoned many orbs of light from seemingly thin air, which promptly merged together. It placed the glowing sphere into Harry, his soul now again intact. Death waved Its hand to send him off. Right as Harry's soul drifted away, Death heard the faintest whisper of, "Thank you..."


	3. Chapter 2

Avada green orbs snapped open, making the round, chubby face even more angelic. Harry curiously streched a small pudgey arm outwards, his eyes taking in the details of his hand. A very _tiny_ hand. His brow furrowed in confusion, memories and feelings flowing through his mind, yet not being able to fully grasp them until he settled on one. He was, at present, an infant. He blinked once, twice. It appeared he was in a nursery of sorts. Much nicer than the small, dusty place in his mind. His belly gave a little gurgling sound and little lips parted, hungry. A light tinkling laughter flowed into the room and a woman with red hair and vibrant green eyes smiled down at him. Feelings of familiarity, longing, and loss waved over him, a single thought coming to mind, _mum._

It'd been a few months since Harry awoke as a babe, but he made rapid progress in sorting out and understanding fleeting memories long past and drawing understanding from them with his still developing baby's mind. Now, he could remember parts of his past and resigned himself to know he was powerless to stop the fate soon to befall his parents and himself. Despite this he made efforts to advance his young body to be better prepared by making a point to develop certain muscle memories. He could already stand on his own, and very nearly able to walk at a year old. James and Lily allowed him crayons despite his age after numerous occurences of accidental magic had them or a biro floating through the house to him. Instead of the usual abstract scribbles common to young children, he practiced measured strokes for letters and numbers and put to paper his memories- most especially those of the red-eyed man. _Tom._

It had taken quite awhile for a solid, concrete piece of information to form from his recall, but the name gradually spilled into his thoughts as he drew. Since then, he tried to say the name, but had yet to properly make the "o" sound needed. Currently his attempts at the name sounded like "tam" or "tum". He would not stop trying, after all, his time would soon be cut short.

Ever since his first birthday, Harry made it his mission to stay aware of the date. He knew that, come Halloween, his parents would soon leave this world. Despite that fact, he wanted to warn them, if not to receive one last embrace from his father before all hell broke loose.

The 31st of October approached and came in a blur. The Potter's sat in the quaint sitting room. Instead of playing with toys, or stuffed animals, Harry clung close to Lily and James, who snuggled close to him after he'd spent a good portion of the day nestled in their clothes, crying silently. His tears long dried, he contentedly sank into the warm embrace of his mother and father. The only source of sound being the muggle grandfather clock in the room creating a soft _tik tok_.

Harry peeked an eye open at the clock, and seeing it only ten til seven, abruptly sat up and scooted out of his parents lap. As per usual a crayon was near by and a sheet of paper zoomed into the room. With small hands tightly clutching the crayon, he slowly scribbled in a barely readable scrawl:

 _He's coming._ With a nod to himself, he toddled over to his mum and dad, both of whom regarded him with bemusement. He thrust the paper towards them, an odd seriousness in his eyes, unfitting for a baby. They read the sheet, and then snapped their heads up to look at him and then each other wordlessly. Harry held out his arms for one last hug.

James swooped down and scooped his little Harry into his arms with a slight wetness to his eyes. "I'm not sure how you know this, but remember Harry, I love you very much." He passed him to Lily and after a brief peck on her lips, withdrew his wand saying, "Lily, take him and go. I love you b-" He abruptly stopped mid-sentence as tje wards around the house fell and louds cracks could be heard from outside. "Go!"

Lily ran upstairs to the nursery, hearing the front door crash open and the struggle downstairs. She quickly placed Harry into the crib and drew her wand, moving it in complex patterns and slicing open her palm letting blood drip down her finger as she drew runes on the dark wood. She quickly withdrew her hand and leaned in to kiss Harry while sealing the runes and completing the spellwork. "Mummy loves you, my sweet Harry," she whispered as tears welled in her eyes.

The door slammed open behind her, with such force it nearly ought to fall of the hinges. Lily whipped around to face the Dark Lord. A flick of his wand sent her own flying.

"Please don't hurt him, please!" She stood her ground defenseless without her wand, but protective regardless.

Voldemort disregarded her, impatience evident in his tone. "It's not you I am here for. Stand aside and you shall be spared."

"No, no please! Not him! Take me instead, kill me! Not him!" She pleaded, standing protectively in between the madman and her baby.

"Stand aside. You do not need to die tonight."

"NO! Please kill me instead! Spare my baby!"

"Stand aside silly girl!" Voldemort's voice rose, thick magic shaking the room. With Lily's last protest he uttered two words, " **Avada Kedavra**!" and she lifelessly fell at his feet. He looked toward the babe, prophesized as his vanquisher.

Harry knew this was the moment. He stood up in his crib, staring at the snake-like man in front of him, who had his wand trained on the little boy. Harry parted his lips and attempted to croak out a word.

"T-Tum. Tum! Tom! TOM!" Despite the sight of his dead mother, Harry gave a triumphant little smile, he'd finally said it! He held out his little arms to Tom, still wary with caution, but still feeling a slight tug and need to invite him near.

Voldemort regarded the little boy with apprehension, confusion, curiosity and thinly veiled disgust. **How** this child knew his disgusting muggle father's name and subsequently his own, puzzled him completely.

He looked upon the child, who, with outstretched arms, peered back up at him. He felt his magic pull and thus he stepped forward over the dead mudblood's body and leaned forward. His mind screamed at him to stop, but his body followed the will of his magic. As soon as he was close enough, a tiny warm hand gently touched his cheek. His eyes drifted closed and a soft sigh escaped his lips before he reared back in shock.

He was not to _enjoy_ the damned touch of his fated enemy. It had felt as though his very soul yearned for the green-eyed angel before him. Crimson eyes narrowed in frustration and anger as he whipped his previously lowered wand toward the child.

Harry looked up at Tom with _knowing_ in his eyes and gave a sad smile. It would be sometime before they would meet again, their future sure to be riddled with hardship. He leaned back, ready for the curse to illuminate the room, his emerald orbs never leaving Tom's own rubies.

Tom's mouth moved and a flash of green followed by a piercing, agonized scream was the last Harry heard and saw before a cool darkness descended upon him as he was craddled in the arms of Death.


	4. Chapter 3

The being cradled its little Master close in an attempt to convey comfort for the child to, most shockingly, snuggle further into Death's cloak, despite the bone chilling cold It emanated. Looking down at the babe, It let out a gentle cooing sound and with one long, icy finger, stroked the warm, soft cheek.

Death had never been a being of emotions- save boredom or the occasional satisfaction of entertainment when a particularly impacting humans, most especially wizards, entered the playing field. Now, It felt content and protective with the little soul in Its bony arms.

Unfortunately, the being knew better than to think It could interfere in the child's future without consequence. Not to itself of course, but to the little boy in Its arms. It would be unable to raise the child, nor show itself to other mortals unnecessarily. No, not even Death could negate the will of Fate, tamper with and temporarily work around, but never bypass entirely.

Death let forth a long, shuddering sigh. It was time to return the little soul back to the mortal plane to relive his previously unfortunate, young life- but first, It would bestow a gift. Death leaned forward to press Its forehead to the child's, two fingers resting lightly on his small lips as he gave his blessing. Little green orbs fluttered open and made contact with Death's own swirling depths.

Should irreparable harm come to the child, It would embrace the little soul, dust him off, then set him back to rights as if he'd never die. What betterbetter gift than immortality to search for and be with his other half?

When the emerald eyes below It shimmered with recognition, Death phased back into the mortal plane. Placing Harry back into his physical body, It waited. Only when a soft exhale left the babe did Death whisper in a rattling breath,

"Rest well Master. I shall be with you always."


	5. Chapter 4

When the chilling comfort of Death left him, Harry's eyes fluttered, but he remained asleep. It wasn't until the sound of footsteps racing up the stairs drew him out of his peaceful slumber, eyes snapping open.

Severus Snape rushed into the nursery and promptly flung himself onto Lily, cradling and sobbing over her lifeless body. Tears welled in Harry's eyes as the scene brought back memories of the death and personal memories of Snape he witnessed.

Harry had a feeling that no matter what, Fate had a course he must follow. Just as his parents death had been set in stone, such also was his life to be had with the Dursley's. Despite this, he still wished to communicate his own sorrow and empathy to the man who would grow to hate him.

"Seb..." The faintest of whispers reached Snape's ears. His head snapped up to look at the boy in the crib. Onyx eyes met avada orbs, the instinctual sneer began to slide onto his face. This boy was a carbon copy of bloody Potter except... those eyes...Lily's eyes. This was Lily's child and bore no responsibility for this tragedy. No... the blame rested on him, deliverer of the Potters' death sentence.

"Seb!!" He snapped out of his wallowing of regret, self-pity, and all-consuming guilt to look and listen to the boy. The child raised a hand to point toward Lily, "Mummy... sowwy. Mummy f-fowgib Seb" He turned to point towards Severus

A cry wrenched itself from Severus's throat, and with a jerky nod, he dashed from the room howling in pain and anger. She forgave him, truly... He needed to think. As soon as he left the house, a large crack sounded, and he was gone.

The rest of the night flew by in a haze for Harry. Sirius had stepped in, seen the damage, and fled, presumably after Peter. Hagrid then came and whisked baby Harry away with tears in his giant eyes on the incredibly loud enchanted motorbike. On the street outside 4 Privet drive, Harry was passed off to Dumbledore while McGonagall insisted that the Dursley's were "the worst sort of Muggles." Harry couldn't contain the snort that followed.

A sleeping charm later, Harry was laid out on the front step with a short letter. Upon the departure of the wizard mortals, Death descended, allowing Its cloak to wrap and surround the child. Despite the rather unnatural chill permeating the warming charm, Harry let out a small sigh of contentment enjoying the peace of sleep before the life of hell were to begin.


	6. Chapter 5

The Dursleys had been quite disgruntled upon discovering the son of Petunia's "freak sister" on their doorstep. Vernon refused to even look at the boy.

Despite the fact that Petunia was quite the loving mother to her little Diddydums, the same could not be said of her attitude toward Harry. To say she executed even the bare minimum of care toward him was a stretch. Her lack of changing his nappy, for instance, resulted in untreated rashes and urinary tract infections. He spent his days in a dusty, dark cupboard until she remembered to change and feed him. All "care" of the young boy was far from gentle and Petunia avoided skin to skin contact if possible, as if he were disease ridden. She certainly never held him, and but of course never took him out- Vernon became quite incensed whenever he caught sight of the little freak.

And so went the days of Harry's babyhood. He quickly adapted to toilet training, abnormaly fast in fact, much sooner than Dudley ever could. Petunia attributed this to his being a little freak, but ultimately accepted it as less work for her.

For the next three years, Harry was left in his cupboard, never seeing sunlight, never given any positive human interaction, without even a small toy to occupy his time, let out once a day to use the toilet. The Dursley's never refered to him by name, instead using "freak" and "boy."

Had Harry not had the memories still incoming from his "previous" life, he very well would have never known his name. With nothing to do with himself, Harry spent the next few years sorting through his memories, understanding and reevaluating the actions and decisions of himself and others in his life and the resulting events they caused.

By the age of four, Harry had begun his first chore; he made the Dursleys breakfast each morning. Due to being unable to look above the stove and into the pans, he regularly overcooked or burned the food, resulting in screeches from his aunt and angry hollers from his uncle as he was dragged to his cupboard and locked in without food for the day.

Every so often, new chores were added to his list and by the time he reached six years of age, Harry had become responsible for very nearly the entire households upkeep, meals, yardwork, and gardening. By this point he had also reached the end of his old memories. At night he remembered Voldemort's, _Tom's,_ death and his very soul grieved whenever he relived the event in his dreams, or rather, nightmares. He'd jolt awake, lips parted in silent screams, tears streaming down his cheeks. Wiping away the tears, Harry would firmly remind himself that it won't happen again. He'd save both their souls this time.

Harry was nearly seven when it happened. He'd been poaching eggs on the stove and juicing oranges into a glass pitcher. His aunt and uncle were in the sitting room watching the telly when Dudley rounded the corner and smashed into him as he picked up the pitcher to place on the dining table. The pitcher of course dropped to the floor, shattering into a mess of glass and juice and Harry stumbled backwards. Trying to find purchase as he fell, Harry's hand slipped from the counter to the stove and curled in the still burning flame. He screamed and jerked his hand back violently, flipping the pan off the stove and onto himself and the floor. The scalding water and eggs splashed, burning his face.

Dudley looked down on him with contempt and yelled, "Watch where you're going freak!" The juice had splashed onto his trousers and shoes. Upon noticing this, Dudley did what he did best: whine and cry to Mummy. "MUM! The freak knocked into me and ruined my clothes!" This exclamation being quite unnecessary considering the extremely loud sounds his fall had created.

Petunia and Vernon rushed into the kitchen and upon seeing the mess soiling her pristine kitchen screeched, "Look at what you've done you little freak! Clean it up!" With that she marched out of the room and followed Dudley to his room to retrieve his clothes for Harry to no doubt clean afterwards.

Vernon however, appeared disinclined to such leniency. The walrus-like man was purple faced, with quite the tic in his clenched jaw. "BOY!!" He quickly undid his belt and rushed forward and quite literally tore the over sized shirt from Harry's body. He violently turned him around and threw him back to the floor. Brandishing his belt-whip, he brought it down on Harry's flesh with a _crack._

Harry's eyes widened to the size of saucers. _No no nononono._ This was most definately _not_ what he remembered. Uncle Vernon had certainly hollered himself hoarse and blue and threatened Harry, but he had never struck him. Yet here he was, raining blows upon his rail-thin frame. The pale flesh of his back stretched thin, making visible each and every individual vertebrae, quickly becoming red, raw, and inflamed.

"Uncle Vernon, please! It hurts!" Tears rolled down his plump cheeks. His labored breath hitched when Vernon struck with the buckle itself, which happened to strike his spine. A pained gasp escaped his lips as the pain increased and rivulets of blood streamed down Harry's back, dripping and pooling on the floor and into his trousers. His arms gave way beneath him and he slumped to the floor.

He vaguely heard his Uncle demand that he clean up everything. For a while he simply lay there, pain wracking his body. He had no idea when he got up, but dutifully cleaned up the mess and the drying blood in addition, each movement reopening the slowly clotting wounds which in turn dripped more blood for him to clean up. Picking up the tattered remains of his shirt, he tied it around himself to absorb the blood before it could add to his cleaning. Harry staggered to his cupboard and stumbled in only to collapse unconcious.


	7. Chapter 6

Upon opening his eyes, Harry couldn't help but take notice, _no pain_. Could it have been a rather horrid nightmare? It made sense, after all, during his first life the Dursleys had been abusive and certainly neglectful of him, but _never_ had they physically harmed him. Oh, they'd threatened it every occasion, but never acted on any impulse to cause bodily harm. Except Dudley, seeing as he had been raised on a pedestal and could do no evil, _Harry Hunting_ was perfectly acceptable.

Harry shook out of his ponderings when he felt the flaky feel of dried blood peeling from his skin and the stiff, crusted fabric of his lone sheet under his hands. Horrified, he twisted his arms every which way possible to scramble at his back, feeling for the fresh scabs forming over the wounds that had decidedly _not_ occurred in a nightmare. Surprisingly, he felt not scabs, but smooth skin. He'd a feeling that if he could see his back, it'd be criss-crossed with smooth scars, if the slightly taut, smoother strips of flesh he could feel were any indicator.

As Harry made to lean back against the inner wall of his cupboard, the air stilled, and a chill swept through him. Despite the shivers it briefly caused, he couldn't help but sigh in relief, as the cool felt so very familiar and comforting. Just as his eyes fluttered closed, thin, frigid arms wrapped around him and he nestled into the bony, arctic frame of his companion.

"I'm sorry Master. I was not meant to interfere, but I've healed your wounds. They will scar, but only to serve as a reminder, for strength will grow within you through suffering and hardship. Fear not Master, for your soulmate's touch will erase the physical manifestations of your pain, and heal the aspects within your mind and soul."

Instead of opening his eyes, Harry just softly sighed. "Is this how it's fated to be? I am to barely survive my childhood before I ever have the chance to see him, to help him? They never hurt me like this the first time. I haven't a wand, obviously the accidental magic bit hasn't come to the rescue, and it's become quite apparent that you'll not be able to do a thing to help until _after_ I'm broken and bloody! Any suggestions?"

Death remained silent before answering, "Master, it is true that _I_ cannot be of assistance during such occurences and that _accidental_ magic will not be of aid to you in most circumstances, **but** what do you know of magic? When learning in school, is it not the castor's _intent_? Remember Master, that a wand is simply a conduit for wizarding folk to focus and channel their magic. However, a great many magical creatures perform the same, if not more complex magic _without_ a wand. "

Harry's eyes twitched and one opened to peer up towards the otherwordly being currently cradling him. "You wouldn't happening to be suggesting _wandless_ magic would you? If you'll remember, I never learned wandless magic. One would need an innate ability to sense magic or intense meditation for a simple _Accio_! May I remind you that I was pants at Occlumemcy, which was nearly completely meditation for a very similar purpose??" By this point Harry had sat up to glare directly into the swirling orbs before him.

Death, without speaking, raised Its hands to Harry's temples. Harry's eyes fluttered shut yet again at the incredibly soothing touch of Death. Silently, It trailed long fingers over his eyelids, down his cheeksand followed every vein and pulsepoint in his body before speaking, "Open your eyes Master."

As Harry's eyes slowly opened he let out a startled gasp. Throughout his entire body, under the surface of his skin, he could see silverly trailing wisps, swirling and ever so often flickering with a clear mint and gorgeous bronze colouring. "This is magic! This is my magic isn't it?!"

Death chuckled lightly as Harry sat examining his hands as if they were the most fasinating things he'd ever seen. "Yes Master. I've enabled you to see your magic, _feel_ it. The meditation you spoke of? Unnecessary. Now you can feel the magic swirling through your body, you will be able to focus, will, and direct your magic by intent. In fact, should danger befall you and you intended to defend yourself, it is now perfectly within your capabilities to do so." Death stated, if a bit smugly.

A sly grin found its way onto Harry's face. "Why Death, you wouldn't happen to be suggesting I cause my Uncle harm, would you?" When Death said nothing in response, Harry just smiled in turn. "Thank you Death"

Laying the child form of Harry down, Death stroked a stray lock from his face before disappearing with a whispered, "You're welcome Master." And with that, Harry drifted off.


End file.
